Strange Sally Diamond

The annexe was in a funny-shaped building on the side of the house. There was a door into it from the downstairs pantry. There was another door beside my bedroom door too. Occasionally, I would hear noises coming from behind the other door. Often, the sound of crying or howling. Dad said that’s where he kept the ghost, and that I mustn’t worry because she could never get out. And he was right, because she never did. But the noise could be frightening sometimes. When it got bad, Dad told me to stay under the covers with my hands over my ears and I think he must have gone into the room next door and told the ghost to be quiet, because there wouldn’t be a peep out of it for days.

At bedtime, Dad would read me a story and kiss my forehead and tell me he loved me and we would say our prayers together and then he would lock the door again to keep me safe until morning.

Every year on my birthday, 7th August, we had a Special Day. Dad didn’t go to work. The first one I remember, Dad brought home a tent and we pitched it in the garden. He made a bonfire and we cooked sausages on it. We slept in sleeping bags in the tent. And then, later, he woke me up and it was dark. He led me outside and lit fireworks and the summer ink sky burst into colour and noise and it was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me.

The next birthday was scary. I was seven years old, I think. I was frightened when we went through the gates at the bottom of our garden in Dad’s car and turned out on to the road. I was dizzy. I hadn’t been in his car before although I helped him wash it on Sundays. He had put cushions on the front seat so that I could see out of the window. And he gave me a bag to get sick into, in case the dizziness didn’t pass. It went away quickly. Outside the gates, there were people – the same size as Dad and me – and there were women. I’d only seen them on TV and in books, but these were life-size.

We had a long journey in the car to the zoo. I was worried that we would never find our way home, but Dad said he would always be able to find home.

I was so terrified of letting go of Dad’s hand. I was more intrigued by the people than by the animals. They walked around in groups, mothers with children and babies in prams, mums and dads walking arm in arm. Groups of children, girls and boys, running around together. Dad was trying to get me to look at the chimpanzees and the elephants, but I was listening to the people talking to each other. Dad bought me an ice pop and told me not to look at the other people, but I couldn’t help it. A man stopped Dad and talked to him. I hid behind Dad’s legs. Dad told the man I was his godson. I could tell he didn’t want to talk to the other man, and we moved along quickly, and then Dad said it was time to go home. I was glad.

I had lots of questions. I asked him what the difference between a son and a godson was and he said a godson was a child who believed in God. And I certainly did.

I asked Dad if women were bad. He said most of them were. I said that there were nice ones on television and in my books, but he said that television and my stories were make-believe. I asked if I had a mum and he said I did but that she was a ghost. There was a big padlock on the door of the room next to mine in the annexe. Now, I asked if my mother was the ghost who lived in that room, if she was the one who made the howling noises, and he said that she was, but that I shouldn’t worry because I wouldn’t ever have to see her.

17 Sally

I opened the letter with trembling hands.

Dearest Sally

I hope by now that you have recovered a little from my death.

These are things I should have told you gradually long ago, perhaps over a period of time. I don’t want you to be upset by this news. It is all in the past and nothing will change for you now, unless you want it to, but I think you are a creature of habit and you will go on as you have.

Your birth name is Mary Norton. Norton is your birth mother’s name. We believe it would not have been her choice to use your birth father’s name. All of the original medical reports and some newspaper clippings are in the box under my desk in a file marked PRIVATE. When you came to us, we decided that you were a new person. You were our Sally Diamond.